“Behold, and listen:  praised be the holy saints, he is saved!” was the rapid reply, as the voice of the soldier close by the foot of the scaffold, was distinguished bidding them “Hold! hold! the King commands it.  He is innocent; the real murderer is discovered!” and then followed a shout, so loud, so exulting, that it seemed to have burst from those assembled hundreds at the same instant.  The prisoner heard it, indeed; but to his bewildered senses—­taking the place as it did of the expected blow—­it was so utterly meaningless that he neither moved nor spoke; and even Don Felix’s friendly voice charging him—­“Up, Stanley! up, man! thou art saved—­thine innocence made known!” failed to convince him of the truth.  He rose from his knees; but his limbs shook, and his face—­which had changed neither hue nor expression when he had knelt for the fatal blow—­was colorless as marble.  He laid his trembling hand on Father Francis’s arm, and tried to speak, but he could not utter a sound.

“’Tis true, my beloved son:  thy sinful thoughts have been sufficiently chastised; and the mercy of Heaven publicly revealed.  Our prayers have not been said in vain; thine innocence is known—­the guilty one discovered!”

To doubt these solemn accents was impossible, and though the effort was mighty to prevent it, Nature would have sway, and Stanley laid his head on the Prior’s arm, and burst into tears.  And the wild shout that again awoke, seemed to clarion forth a thrilling denial to the charge of weakness, which on such openly demonstrated emotion, some hearts dead to the voice of Nature might have pronounced.

King Ferdinand had not been idle while this exciting scene was enacting; questioning briefly but distinctly the villager who had accompanied the novice; the latter still remaining in a state of exhaustion precluding all inquiries from him.  Perez, however, could only repeat the lad’s words when informed that the execution of Senor Stanley was to take place that day.  Father Ambrose had merely told him that he (Perez) had rendered a most important service to more than one individual by his compassionate care of the dying man, whose desire to communicate with the King was no idle raving.  He had also charged him to take particular care of the young novice, who was ailing and weakly; that the emergency of the present case alone had compelled him to send the lad to Segovia, as his dress and ability, might gain him a quicker admission to the King or Queen, than the rude appearance and uncouth dialect of his companion.  The father had also requested him to urge the officers, whom the King might send to take the dying man’s confession, to travel at their utmost speed, for he thought death was approaching fast.